{"product_id":"death-below-stairs-isbn-9780399585517","title":"Death Below Stairs","description":"\u003cb\u003eVictorian class lines are crossed when cook Kat Holloway is drawn into a murder that reaches all the way to the throne.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHighly sought-after young cook Kat Holloway takes a position in a Mayfair mansion and soon finds herself immersed in the odd household of Lord Rankin. Kat is unbothered by the family’s eccentricities as long as they stay away from her kitchen, but trouble finds its way below stairs when her young Irish assistant is murdered. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIntent on discovering who killed the helpless kitchen maid, Kat turns to the ever-capable Daniel McAdam, who is certainly much more than the charming delivery man he pretends to be. Along with the assistance of Lord Rankin’s unconventional sister-in-law and a mathematical genius, Kat and Daniel discover that the household murder was the barest tip of a plot rife with danger and treason—one that’s a threat to Queen Victoria herself.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eDeath Below Stairs\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A top-notch new series that deftly demonstrates Ashley’s mastery of historical mysteries by delivering an impeccably researched setting, a fascinating protagonist with an intriguing past, and lively writing seasoned with just the right measure of dry wit.”–\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“An exceptional series launch…Readers will look forward to this fascinating lead’s future endeavors.”\u003cbr\u003e–\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A smart and suspenseful read, Death Below Stairs is a fun series launch that will leave you wanting more.”–Bustle\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“This mood piece by Ashley is not just a simple murder mystery. There is a sinister plot against the crown and the race is on to save the queen. The characters are a lively, diverse group, which bodes well for future Below Stairs mysteries, and the thoroughly entertaining cast will keep readers interested until the next escapade. This first installment is a well-crafted Victorian adventure.”–\u003ci\u003eRT Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A fun, intriguing mystery with twists and turns makes for a promising new series.”–Red Carpet Crash\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A charming new mystery series sure to please!”–Fresh Fiction\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“What a likable couple our sleuths Kat Holloway and Daniel McAdam make—after you’ve enjoyed \u003ci\u003eDeath Below Stairs\u003c\/i\u003e, make room on your reading calendar for \u003ci\u003eScandal Above Stairs\u003c\/i\u003e.”–Criminal Element\u003cb\u003eJennifer Ashley \u003c\/b\u003eis the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eDeath Below Stairs\u003c\/i\u003e; the Shifters Unbound paranormal romances, including \u003ci\u003eRed Wolf\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eGuardian’s Mate\u003c\/i\u003e; and the Mackenzies historical romances, including \u003ci\u003eThe Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Stolen Mackenzie Bride\u003c\/i\u003e. Winner of a Romance Writers of America RITA Award, she also writes as \u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling mystery author Ashley Gardner. She lives in the Southwest with her husband and cats, and spends most of her time in the wonderful worlds of her stories.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eLondon, March 1881\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I had not been long at my post in Mount Street, Mayfair, when my      employer's sister came to some calamity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I must say I was not shocked that such a thing happened, because      when a woman takes on the dress and bad habits of a man, she      cannot be surprised at the disapprobation of others when she is      found out. Lady Cynthia's difficulties, however, turned out to be      only the beginning of a vast tangle and a long, dangerous      business.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But I am ahead of myself. I am a cook, one of the finest in London      if I do say it, and also one of the youngest to be made head cook      in a lavish household. I worked some time in the winter at a house      in Richmond, and it was a good position, but the family desired to      sell up and move to the Lake District, and I was loath to leave      the environs of London for my own rather private reasons.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Back went my name on the books, and the agency at last wrote to my      new lodgings in Tottenham Court Road to say they had found a place      that might suit. Taking their letter with me, I went along to the      house of one Lord Rankin in Mount Street, descending from the      omnibus at South Audley Street and walking the rest of the way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I expected to speak to the housekeeper, but upon arrival, the      butler, a tall, handsome specimen who rather preened himself, took      me up the stairs to meet the lady of the house in her small study.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was Lady Rankin, wife of the prodigiously wealthy baron who      owned this abode. The baron's wealth came not from the fact that      he was an aristocrat, the butler, Mr. Davis, had already confided      in me-the estate had been nearly bankrupt when Lord Rankin had      inherited it. Rather, Lord Rankin was a deft dabbler in the City      and had earned money by wise investment long before the cousin      who'd held the title had died, conveniently childless.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When I first beheld Lady Rankin, I was surprised she'd asked for      me, because she seemed too frail to hold up her head, let alone      conduct an interview with a new cook.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Mrs. Holloway, ma'am,\" Mr. Davis said. He ushered me in, bowed,      and withdrew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The study in which I found myself was small and overtly feminine.      The walls were covered in yellow moiré; the curtains at the      windows were white lace. Framed mirrors and paintings of gardens      and picturesque country lanes adorned the walls. A delicate,      gilt-legged table from the last century reposed in the middle of      the room, with an equally graceful chair behind it. A      scroll-backed chaise covered with shawls sat near the desk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lady Rankin was in the act of rising from the chaise as we      entered, as though she had grown weary waiting for me and retired      to it. She moved listlessly to the chair behind her desk, sat upon      it, and pulled a paper in front of her with a languid hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Mrs. Holloway?\" she asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mr. Davis had just announced me, so there was no doubt who I was,      but I nodded. Lady Rankin looked me over. I remained standing in      the exact center of the carpet in my second-best frock, a brown      wool jacket buttoned to my throat, and my second-best hat of light      brown straw perching on my thick coil of dark hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lady Rankin's garment was white, filmy, and high necked, its      bodice lined with seed pearls. Her hair was pale gold, her cheeks      thin and bloodless. She could hardly be thirty summers, but rather      than being childlike, she was ethereal, as though a gust of wind      could puff her away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She glanced at whatever paper was in front of her-presumably a      letter from my agency-and then over the desk at me. Her eyes were      a very light blue and, in contrast to her angel-like appearance,      were rather hard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You are very young,\" she observed. Her voice was light, as thin      as her bones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I am nearly thirty,\" I answered stiffly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When a person thought of a cook, they pictured an older woman who      was either a shrew in the kitchen or kindhearted and a bit slow.      The truth was that cooks came in all ages, shapes, and      temperaments. I happened to be nine and twenty, plump and brown      haired, and kind enough, I hoped, but I brooked no nonsense.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I meant for a cook,\" Lady Rankin said. \"Our last cook was nearly      eighty. She is . . . gone. Living with her daughter.\" She added      the last quickly, as though fearing I'd take gone to mean to      heaven.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I had no idea how Lady Rankin wished me to answer this      information, so I said, \"I assure you, my lady, I have been quite      well trained.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yes.\" Lady Rankin lifted the letter. The single page seemed too      heavy for her, so she let it fall. \"The agency sings your praises,      as do your references. Well, you will find this an easy place.      Charles-Lord Rankin-wishes his supper on the table when he arrives      home from the City at eight. Davis will tell you his lordship's      favorite dishes. There will be three at table this evening, Lord      Rankin, myself, and my . . . sister.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her thin lip curled the slightest bit as she pronounced this last.      I thought nothing of it at the time and only gave her another nod.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lady Rankin slumped back into her chair as though the speech had      taken the last of her strength. She waved a limp hand at me. \"Go      on, then. Davis and Mrs. Bowen will explain things to you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I curtsied politely and took my leave. I wondered if I shouldn't      summon Lady Rankin's maid to assist her to bed but left the room      before I did anything so presumptuous.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The kitchen below was to my liking. It was nowhere near as modern      and large as the one I'd left in Richmond, but I found it      comfortable and what I was used to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This house was a double town house-that is, instead of having a      staircase hall on one side and all the rooms on the other, it had      rooms on both sides of a middle hall. Possibly two houses had been      purchased and knocked into one at some time and the second      staircase walled off for use by the staff.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Below stairs, we had a large servants' hall, which lay across a      passage from the kitchen. In the servants' hall was a long table      where the staff could take meals as well as a row of bells that      would ring when someone above stairs pulled a cord to summon the      servant he or she wished. Along the passage from the kitchen and      servants' hall was a larder, and beyond that a laundry room, and      then a room for folding clean linens, the housekeeper's parlor,      and the butler's pantry, which included the wine cellar. Mr. Davis      showed me over each, as proud as though he owned the house      himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The kitchen was a wide, square room with windows that gave onto      the street above. Two dressers full of dishes lined the      white-painted walls, and a hanging rack of gleaming copper pans      dangled above the stove. A thick-legged table squatted in the      middle of the floor, one long enough on which to prepare several      dishes at once, with space at the end for an assistant to sit and      shell peas or do whatever I needed done.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The kitchen's range was neatly fitted into what had been a large      fireplace, the stove high enough that I wouldn't have to stoop or      kneel to cook. I'd had to kneel on hard stones at one house-where      I hadn't stayed long-and it had taken some time for my knees and      back to recover.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Here I could stand and use the hot plates that were able to      accommodate five pots at once, with the fire below behind a thick      metal door. The fire could be stoked without disturbing the ovens      to either side of it-one oven had racks that could be moved so      several things could be baked at the same time, and the other      spacious oven could have air pumped though it to aid roasting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was pleased with the stove, which was quite new, likely      requested by the wealthy lordship who liked his meal served      precisely when he arrived home. I could bake bread in one oven      while roasting a large joint of meat in the other, with all my      pots going above. The greatest challenge to a cook is to have      every dish ready and hot at the same time so none come to the      table colder than any other. To aid this, a shelf above the stove      that ran the length of it could keep finished food in warmth while      the rest of the meal was completed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Beyond the kitchen was a scullery with a door that led to the      outside stairs, which ran up to the street. The sink was in the      scullery so that dirty water and entrails from fish and fowl could      be kept well away from the rest of my food. The larder, a long      room lined with shelves and with a flagstone floor, looked well      stocked, though I'd determine that for myself. From a cursory      glance, I saw bags of flour, jars of barley and other grains,      dried herbs hanging from the beams, spices in tinned copper jars      with labels on them, and crates of vegetables and fruit pushed      back against the coolest walls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The kitchen itself was fairly dark, as most kitchens were, despite      the high windows, so we would have to burn lamps all the time, but      otherwise, I was satisfied.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The staff to run this lofty house in Mayfair wasn't as large as      I'd expect, but they seemed a diligent lot. I had an assistant, a      rather pretty girl of about seventeen who seemed genial enough-she      reminded me of myself at that age. Whether her assistance would be      useful remained to be seen. Four footmen appeared and disappeared      from the servants' hall, as did half a dozen maids.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mrs. Bowen, the housekeeper, was thin and birdlike, and I did not      know her. This surprised me, because when you are in service in      London, you come to know those in the great houses, or at least \u003ci\u003eof\u003c\/i\u003e them. However, I'd never heard of Mrs. Bowen, which either meant      she'd not been in London long or hadn't long been a housekeeper.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was disturbed a bit by her very thin figure, because I preferred      to work with those who enjoyed eating. Mrs. Bowen looked as though      she took no more than a biscuit every day, and then only a      digestive. On the other hand, I'd known a spindly man who could      eat an entire platter of pork and potatoes followed by a hearty      dose of steak and kidney pie and never had to loosen his clothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mr. Davis, whom I soon put down as a friendly old gossip, gave me      a book with notes from the last cook on what the master preferred      for his dinners. I was pleased to find the dishes uncomplicated      but not so dull that any chophouse could have provided them. I      could do well here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I carefully unpacked my knives, including a brand-new, sharp      carver, took my apron from my valise, and started right in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The young assistant, a bit unhappy that I wanted her help      immediately, was soon chatting freely with me while she measured      out flour and butter for my brioche. She gave her name as Sinead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She pronounced it \u003ci\u003eShin-aide\u003c\/i\u003e and gave me a hopeful look. I thought      it a beautiful name, conjuring mists over the green Irish land-a      place I'd never been-but this was London, and a cook's kitchen was      no place for an Irish nymph.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's quite lovely,\" I said as I cut butter into the flour. \"But      I'm sorry, my girl, we can't be having \u003ci\u003eSinead\u003c\/i\u003e. People get wrong      ideas. You must have a plain English name. What did the last cook      call you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sinead let out a sigh, her dreams of romance dashed. \"Ellen,\" she      said, resigned. I saw by her expression that she disliked the name      immensely.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I studied her dark brown hair, blue eyes, and pale skin in some      sympathy. Again, she reminded me of myself-poised on the edge of      life and believing wonderful things would happen to her. Alas, I'd      found out only too soon the bitter truth. Sinead's prettiness      would likely bring her trouble, well I knew, and life was apt to      dash her hopes again and again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Ellen,\" I repeated, trying to sound cheerful. \"A nice, solid      name, but not too dull. Now, then, Ellen, I'll need eggs. Large      and whole, nothing cracked.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sinead gave me a long-suffering curtsy and scuttled for the      larder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"She's got her head in the clouds,\" Mrs. Bowen said as she passed      by the kitchen door. \"Last cook took a strap to her.\" She sounded      vastly disapproving of the last cook, which made me begin to warm      to Mrs. Bowen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Is that why the cook was dismissed?\" I already didn't think much      of this elderly cook, free with a strap, whoever she was. Sinead's      only crime, I could see so far, was having dreams.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No.\" Mrs. Bowen's answer was short, clipped. She ducked away      before she could tell me anything more interesting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I continued with my bread. Brioche was a favorite of mine-a bread      dough made rich with eggs and butter, subtly sweet. It was a fine      accompaniment to any meal but also could be served as pudding in a      pinch. A little cinnamon and stiff cream or a berry sauce poured      over it was as grand as anything served in a posh hotel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was as I began beating the flour and eggs into the milk and      sugar that I met Lady Rankin's sister. I heard a loud banging and      scrabbling noise from the scullery, as though someone had fallen      into it down the stairs. Pans clattered to the floor, and then a      personage in a black suit burst through the scullery door into the      kitchen, boot heels scraping on the flagstones, and collapsed onto      a chair at the kitchen table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I caught up my bowl of dough before it could be upset, looked at      the intruder, and then looked again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This person wore black trousers; a waistcoat of watered silk in a      dark shade of green, with a shining watch fob dangling from its      pocket; a smooth frock coat and loose cravat; a long and rather      dusty greatcoat; a pair of thick leather gloves; and boots that      poked muddy toes from under the trousers. The low-crowned hat that      went with the ensemble had been tossed onto the table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Above this male attire was the head and face of a woman, a rather      pretty woman at that. She'd done her fair hair in a low bun at the      base of her neck, slicking it straight back from a fine-boned      face. The light color of her hair, her high cheekbones, and light      blue, almost colorless eyes were so like Lady Rankin's, that for a      moment, I stared, dumbfounded, believing I was seeing my mistress      transformed. This lady was a bit older though, with the beginnings      of lines about her eyes, and a manner far more robust than Lady      Rankin's.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh Lord,” the woman announced, throwing her bodyback in the chair and letting her arms dangle to the floor. “I think I’ve killed someone.”","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305147748581,"sku":"NP9780399585517","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780399585517.jpg?v=1767724883","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/death-below-stairs-isbn-9780399585517","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}